


Worthy

by 1800areyouslapping



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Attempted Rape, Blood and Gore, Kidnapping, Mild Gore, Other, Physical Abuse, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-04 15:47:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12774267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1800areyouslapping/pseuds/1800areyouslapping
Summary: You’re the daughter of Sojiro Shimada, sister of the Shimada brothers. And you’ve been kidnapped by a rival clan with a leader who has a deep hatred of your family. You’ll have to help yourself before help arrives to rescue you.





	Worthy

“Please don’t tell me you keep your family here.” 

Mr. Suzuki  _laughs._  Ignorant, prideful. Takes a couple of puffs from his tobacco pipe and blows it in your direction. “What is it to you, whore?”

“I’d hate for them to die because you’re holding me here.” 

The leader of the Suzuki clan takes another couple of puffs from his pipe. Sucks on his teeth, a shrill sound that causes your temples to throb. He slowly gets up out of his armchair where he has been watching you sleep, contemplating when he will be partaking in his new concubine, how he’ll be taking part. Though, being chloroformed isn’t exactly what you would call being asleep. Certainly doesn’t feel like you got any rest. 

He gestures towards you with the pipe. Says cooly, “Are you threatening my family, Shimada?” 

“My mere presence here is a threat to your family,” you say a matter of factly. 

His whole chest lifts with a “hmpf,” takes a deep breath through his nose, bating back a scolding hot temper. Anything and just about everything sounds like a challenge to him, like snark, and a jab at his pride. 

“What makes you say that.” 

Manic laughter nearly bubbles its way out of your chest. Not that you find there to be anything humorous about your plight, or about that question. How he can stand there and act as if it’s not obvious? It’s horribly reckless, detrimentally stubborn. For your own good, you swallow it down. 

You’re terrified, more stressed than you’ve ever felt in your life. Scared, for your dignity and your life. Scared, for many peoples lives. “My father is not going to take this lightly.” 

Then he laughs again, this time boisterously. 

“This isn’t funny!” 

“ _Sojiro,_ ” Mr. Suzuki spits out your father’s name. “Fucking  _manko._ ” 

“He’ll come for me, and bring the whole clan with him.” 

Mr. Suzuki approaches the bed. Eyes dark, looking like a hyena at the feast. The only thing keeping you in place is a rope around your neck. Limbs free. The rope has a minuscule length between your neck and the headboard. Gets tighter the more you struggle, so it’s plenty enough to keep you still. However, as the oyabun approaches you it’s incredibly hard not to squirm. Nasua welling up in your stomach, tasting bile in your throat. 

He takes a seat next to you. Tastes another toke, leans forward and blows it right into your face. The smell of tobacco flooding your nose, bellows of smoke burning your eyes. “Why would he do that?”  

“I’m his  _daughter_!” 

“And?” The man shrugs. “I have more than a few children I wouldn't lift a finger for.”

“That’s what makes you,  _you_. And my father, my  _father,_ ” you growl. You’re steadily losing your will to be cooperative. Refusing to let him remove the hope that you will be rescued. Not that he’s done trying. 

“What good are you?” He gestures to your entire body. “Hardly to be considered a Shimada when you have no  _dragon.”_ Your capture drags out that word, dragon. Splays out his arms dramatically, grinning deviously. “You must not be worthy; what good is an unworthy child? Hardly worth the trouble.” 

You swallow down a lump in your throat. That is, admittedly, a sore spot. You’re not sure why a dragon never came to you. Sojiro assures you all the time that it’s not too late. It could happen any day, at any time. Some of your ancestors hadn’t been gifted with a dragon ‘til they truly needed them. Here you’re thinking, if there was ever a time when you truly needed the protection of a dragon, it would be now.  

Mr. Suzuki keeps trying to hammer the nail. “I’m sure I’ve done the  _great_ Shimada a favor. Removed dead weight off of his  _thriving_  empire.” 

No. It wouldn’t be now when you need a dragon, it would have been when the assassin sent to steal you right out of your bed, was holding a chloroformed cloth over your face. No dragon showed up then, and one’s not showing up now. Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes and you hate it. Makes your face feel hot, embarrassed that you’re giving in to letting this pig affect you, feels  _weak_. 

Angry, you bite back. “You sure went through a lot of trouble… are risking a lot for someone you think to be so  _unworthy.”_ Involuntarily you shift, your body trying to reject the backtalk, trying to save you from the imminent consequences, causing the rope to tighten. “I think you know how valuable I am. And you’re a  _fool_ , who’s full of  _shit_ if you rea _–_ ” 

Mr. Suzuki rears back his hand and brings it down swiftly across your face. You yelp as your head snaps to the side. The rope tightens, ear ringing, the entire left side of your face aflame. He hit you so hard you can feel the ache in your bones, a steady throb. Copper floods your senses, something small rolling around in your mouth; a tooth. You spit it out, blood splattering all over the bed’s comforter, your tooth landing not to far from your face.  

“Clearly things work differently in your home,  _whore_. A bitch does not get to back talk here.” 

The conscience in your gut is begging you to shut up. But you’re not done, chest shaking with a manic sounding laugh. “How many times did you ask for my hand?” Words slurred, jaw already swelling up so much it makes it hard to speak. “How many times did my father tell you no?” 

Mr. Suzuki sucks on his teeth, the corner of his eye twitching. Seems you’ve managed to hit his sore spot. Scarlett anger rising in the skin on his neck. The tension in his muscles evident in his movements. How stiff he is as he gets up off of the bed. How he slams the pipe down on the bedside table. The tautness of the veins in his neck, looking like the blood vessels might snap from the strain. The pressure changing in the room, like in the calm moments before a storm.  

Sinister is the look that he gives you, the aura that he carries back onto the bed with him. He places and open palm on your knee, instinctively you kick, causing the rope to tighten around your neck, enough to make breathing a labor for survival. You go stiff as a board, Mr. Suzuki not stopping for your slight protest or your strangled gurgle. He snakes his hand up under your nightshirt, hooks his fingers into the hem of your underwear and pulls them down and off your legs. 

Your bottom lip trembles, tears rolling down your temples. Stomach turning in on itself. A slew of begging phrases fly across your the forefront of your brain. You refuse to say any of them because you’re sure that he’d get a sick pleasure from hearing them, and that they wouldn’t do a single bit of good. 

“Spread your legs,” he demands, deadpan. You are well aware that he’ll rip them open, either way, it’s going to happen. But you just can’t will your muscles to move. If anything, the demand did the opposite, your thighs squeezing, the bone of your knees knocking together. 

Your defiance earns you another smack across your already throbbing and swollen jaw. He spits on you with an upturned lip. “I can’t stand you Shimadas, you think you are too good to follow orders?” Mr. Suzuki grabs a hold of your neck, your mouth agape in an attempt to get air. The rope nearly cutting off your entire ability to breathe. “Don’t act like you don’t know how,  _bitch_. Spread them!” 

“I–ca– I can’t-breathe.” 

“ _Choke then._ ” 

He must not fully understand, mind clouded by pride and the heat of his temper. You’re  _dying._  Unable to get any more air into your lungs. Using all of your willpower to keep from panicking, as panicking is only going to make your noose tighten and cut into your skin. The fabric of the rope is so harsh you don’t doubt that if you struggle enough it could tear through your muscle, saw through the bone and decapitate you.  

You  _need_ to beg him to cut the rope if you want to live. But you can no longer speak, nothing but sick gurgles of blood and spit coming from your open mouth. Mr. Suzuki sits back and watches. “You’ll be worth more to me in pieces.” 

Your body begins to respond to your lack of air. Legs kicking, hands desperately clawing at the rope. All to no avail. It feels like there is so much blood in your ears, that your eardrums might pop and blood will flow from the holes. The pressure in your brain threating to crack your skull in half. So much pressure in your chest, that your lungs will burst out from between your rib cage. 

God, it hurts. Your own nails. The pressure. The rope. Darkness begins to close in and you’re thinking it just might be welcome to consume you. 

“You can still comprehend me, yes?” He says, palming the bulge in under his yukata. “When you’re dead. I’m still going to use you. Then I’m going to chop you up. And send you back to your father covered in me and my sons.” A jarring long suck of his teeth, coupled with a sadistic laugh. “How embarrassing for him.”  

The moment that you are without a doubt, sure, that this is it for you, a terrible tearing sensation arrises in your left hip. Like your muscle and bone is fusing together and ripping itself apart again. So painful that it nearly makes you forget about the rope digging into your trachea, taking the soul from your body. Your entire life doesn’t flash before your eyes, in this moment. Rather, a single memory that allows you to realize that you’re going to live. 

* * *

“What did it feel like?” You asked your brother, Hanzo. He had a palm pressed against his newly tattooed shoulder, as he rolled it back to stretch the muscle. Hands wrapped in white boxing tape, getting ready to spare with Genji. 

“Like an animal was gnawing at my muscle, eating the bone.” He wasn’t done explaining but felt the need to stop and chuckle at your horrified expression. Leaned forward to put some more emphasis on his words. “Like two hungry beasts trying to rip my arm clean off.” Your jaw dropped open, still terrified despite his air of exaggeration that he had. He wasn’t exaggerating, you know that now. “It did not feel good, Aneki.” 

“Does it still hurt?” 

“No.”

You frowned deeply, felt a flood of empathy for your brother. “I’m sorry, that seems… incomprehensibly painful.” 

“Big word,” Hanzo teased. The response warranted a roll of your eyes and a huff from your nose. Then he gave you a small, smug but amused smile. He practically looks like an angel in your mind’s eye; you would desperately like to see him again. “Do not worry, it’s not agony every time they are called.”

Hanzo hopped up from the bench you were sharing together. Genji having entered the mat and given him the come at me sign. “Besides, do you not think a few meager moments of pain is worth a dragon or two?” 

* * *

As you come back to your current reality the oyabun is  _yelping_. Yelping and scrambling to get away from you. Fumbling and ungraceful as he falls off of the bed onto the floor. His source of fear? A dragon tearing themselves from your hip. 

Materializing above your body, looking like a mass of shimmering lavender mist. But more looking like your savor and a new wave of hope. The creature solidifies on top of your body. Snarling, tail waving back and forth so harshly it breaks one of the bedposts, and then the other one. Skinny slivers of wood spraying forth, littering the bed and the floor. 

You don’t have time to be afraid of the dragons bared teeth coming for your neck, or the sharp canine that drags across your throat, as it carefully bites the rope from your neck.  

The first desperate intake of breath hurts. Burns and churns nausea so much you have to double over on the other side of the bed and let it all out. The dragon curled over the top of your body, allowing you to be safe while you do. Every time Mr. Suzuki raises his voice to yell the creature snaps their jaw shut with a deep threatening growl. Despite all of the warnings, the man is in fact, foolish. Too big headed to realize when he needs to stay down. 

In the cold light of his reality, his fate was sealed the moment he thought he would get away with kidnapping the daughter of the Shimada clan. You had initially thought the man would be meeting his grim end by your father’s hand, or at the very least your father’s order. Not inadvertently by you. Though, either way, you had never intended for anyone to die today.

The dragon shakes their body once and they turn back into a translucent being. The oyabun launches himself up off of the floor and sprints for the door. At first, when the dragon launches forward, and wafts through the man’s body, coming out of the other side, solid again, all in the blink of an eye. It seems like the dragon didn’t do a damn thing to the man. 

Mr. Suzuki is only allowed a single moment of hope, a brief second to exclaim, “some fucking dragon you–” Before his sentence is cut off in his throat, never to be finished. 

His eyes glaze over, all of the color draining from his face. Looking white as a ghost. Walks over to the bed and grabs the rope that was just choking the life out of you, wraps it around his own neck, and starts choking the life out of himself. His arms shake, eyes bulging out of his head. Blood seeps from under the string, bringing color back to his skin. When it splits open a carotid artery the hot liquid spurts across the bed. Hits your arm, chest, a few thick ribbons landing on your face, seeping into your hair.  

You are too in shock to exclaim anything about the scene, about the hot blood running down your face; at least it’s not your own. The dragons each have their own unique “gifts” none of which allow for a pretty, or painless death. Not that you’ve ever seen any of them in action, only heard of the grim horror stories. But this, this was not anywhere near what you thought was going to happen when the dragon passed through him. 

Swiftly you roll of off the bed to get away from him as he falls forward. Landing face down on the bed, stiff as a board, not quite dead but soon to be. You hadn’t managed to land on your feet, not even close. But on your side, bringing your knees to your chest, you hug them, and just take a moment to sob. You’re not dead, untouched, and you’ve just earned your dragon. But damn if you’re still not shaken to your very core, and still in an immense amount of pain. 

The creature prowls over to you. Sniffs your head, their whiskers tickling your cheek. “Thank you,” you whisper, voice raspy and hoarse. The simple word burned your throat, made you feel nauseous all over again. You’ve got to get yourself together, Mr. Suzuki may have been the leader, but you’ve still got a whole clan of his lackeys you’ll have to get past. 

They’ll be in to check on their leader any moment now. Maybe you’ve still got a chance to save some lives, you don’t feel Mr. Suzuki’s family should have to pay for his grave mistakes. Little do you know it’s not up to you or your feelings. 

On hands and knees, you crawl to the bathroom. Somehow manage with shaky strength to get up on two feet. Quick to splash your face, taking down a few gulps of water that feels like acid going down your throat. Not daring to look at yourself, afraid that your own appearance might make you spiral. 

When you’re done, you drop down onto your knees in front of the dragon, cup their face and ask, “you’re going to get me out of here, right?” Every single word you say, a labor to get out.  

The dragon hums. 

“Tell my father’s dragons that I’m safe– he doesn’t need to clean sweep the place. I’m okay. Tell them–  _please._  I know you can communicate with eachother— I’ve seen it before.” Your throat seizes up, that’s far too much begging, way too many words for your current state. Coughing violently you double over, trying to gain breathe back, and calm the fire in your throat. 

When you get a chance to look at the dragon they shake their head,  _no._

“What do you mean, no? Tell them– or he’s going to tear this place apart!”

 _You are not safe._ Ghosts of words that careen through your brain. Feels awful, like something crawled inside of your skull and implanted words and understanding directly into your frontal lobe. You can swear you felt your brain swell, and decompress. “Oh.” Your torso sways, as you clamp your hands down on either side of your head. “Please don’t do that again.”  

It doesn’t matter anyway, it’s already started. You’ve never been around, never needed to be, never  _wanted_  to be, when a clan gets put out to slaughter like this. Sojiro’s best assassins slipping inside of the compound and sticking people like pigs, except they don’t get a chance to squeal. How would you know that it happens silently? You thought there would be screaming, constant pops of guns shots. Not utter silence. 

The only thing that gives you a clue is the shiny sheen of a camera in the corner of the room. It catches your eye, makes you curious. If someone has been watching this entire time, then why haven’t they come to try and assist their oyabun?  

“They’re here, aren’t they?”

The dragon nods,  _yes_. 

Conflicted emotions tighten the expanse of your chest. You’re disappointed, heart sinking for the sea of death that is waiting just outside of those sliding doors. Elated, and relieved, because you can’t wait for your family to bust through those same doors. If you’re being really honest with yourself, really, really, honest; your sympathy can only reach so far, only digs so deep. And if you dig deep enough, you’ll find the sick swell of pride and vindication that whispers, “ _see how much I’m worth, Mr. Suzuki?”_

When the door does fly open, and three shrouded but familiar men enter the room it almost doesn’t seem real. Like you’re in an alternate reality, or you might wake up any moment now to find you never left the bed. Genji is the first to unmask himself, paying only a brief nod to your dragon. Stating a quick “congratulations” before dropping down to the floor next to you. 

His eyes quickly flit from side to side, taking in your injuries. Looking beyond worried, but desperately trying to bate it back. “Where is the blood coming from?” 

“I lost a tooth,” you say pointing to the left side of your face. Like _that_ was the blood he was asking about.  

Genji forces himself to switch gears, playing the part he knows you need from him right now. “Oh, sick, let me see?” He says, reaching out with one finger, feining as if he’s going to lift your lip up to get a gander at it. And you’re quick to swat it away, with slight upturns of your lips. Ridiculous. 

Hanzo pays more than just a nod to the dragon. He bows to the creature, giving thanks in Japanese for saving his sister. One look at you was enough to tell just how close you came to death. He neals down next to you, shaking his head at the look of your neck. Gently lifts your chin with one finger to get a better look. “A minor shame that he is already dead,” Hanzo states with a low growl in his chest.

“Indeed,” Sojiro agrees. Standing between his children, the dragon, and the dead oyabun on the bed. Observing the body, a multitude of questions painted across his face. Even Genji gives a slight nod to the sentiment. 

Sojiro’s eyes are dark as he approaches you, taking in all of your injuries. The state of his daughter, feeling the heavy weight of guilt. It was him the man was really trying to hurt, not you. It was the home he provides for you that didn’t keep you safe. Unacceptable.  

It is now when you wish you had gotten up the courage to look at yourself in the mirror. So you could at least know what it is that your father and brothers are seeing. He carefully places a cupped hand on your good side of your jaw. “Did he suffer, Musume?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Good.” The words “but not nearly enough” cut off. “Let’s get you home.” 

**Author's Note:**

> [ Tumblr ](https://1800areyouslapping.tumblr.com/)


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